


Narcissus

by Kitty_Hallows



Category: Fall Out Boy, Pete wentz/Ryan ross - Fandom, fob - Fandom
Genre: High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-09-23 14:01:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9660359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitty_Hallows/pseuds/Kitty_Hallows
Summary: Ryan Ross is utterly attracted to himself. What happens when Pete finds suggestive pictures of him on his phone? ...We'll just tell you. Blackmail. Blackmail happens.





	1. Chapter 1

The class bell rings.

"Finally..." I sigh, and realize this is the first word I've spoken the entire day.

My peers shuffle noisily out of their seats to the door, ignoring whatever last-minute instructions our teacher spat at us as the classroom empties, and I'm last to trickle out.

My locker was located down a strange ally of the halls, tucked away with all the other transfer students. I make my way there, only to get turned around and end up on the other side of the school. It was too late after I had figured out where I was, because my bus had already taken off. I stand on the inside of the school doors as I watch it pass.

Fuck.

I search my front pocket for my phone and immediately dial my mom. Missed the bus on the first day... Way to go, Ross. How am I gonna tell her?

"Mom?"

"This voicemail box is full."

"Fuck!" I exclaim, and slam my phone shut. I keep telling her she needs to clear that, incase there's an actual-

...

Well, I'm stuck here now. May as well try to learn these halls a little better for tomorrow. I'm sure mom will realize I'm not home eventually, the bus route only takes 30 minutes to drop me off, she'll call. I return my phone to my pocket, sling my backpack over my shoulder, and begin with my right hand against my locker. I make my way down, running my hand over the crevasses of the locker wall and start my outline of the building. I'm found at another ally mirroring mine, and figure there must be more transfer students tucked away here. ...their lockers, of course, not the actual students. I make my way past a few classrooms until I break my pattern and head down a hall I hadn't seen yet. As I walk, I begin to hear music. A piano- no, keyboard, and someone singing.

Lunatic of a god or a god of a lunatic, OH their faces are dancing, dancing, 'till they can't stand it. A composer but never composed...

I creak open the door to find two students with instruments, playing very loud music. Somehow over the noise, they notice me.

"Uhh... Sorry." I say, dumbfounded. "I'll just..." I close the door slowly.

It immediately flies back open. I'm pulled in, and before I know what's happening I'm slammed into the back of the door, causing it to shut.

"Listen here." The angry boy says, and drops me from his fisted hold of my shirt collar. "Now you didn't see me hanging out with this band-geek, understand?"

I don't know what else to do aside from gulp and nod my head.

"Good." He says with a sneer. "Because if I catch one word about this, one peep from the quietest kid in school, that you saw me here with this nerd..."

"Geek." The other guy corrects.

"...then things aren't gonna turn out so well for you." He warns.

Who does this guy think he is that makes him so important? For all I care, this incident never happened.

I reply with a hesitant nod, and glance over at his friend before he steps back, allowing me to exit the room, not taking his piercing glare off me for a second as I awkwardly slide out. The door shuts quickly after, and my phone doesn't miss a beat to start ringing on the highest possible volume.

"Great timing mom..." I grumble as I wrestle to turn my phone volume down. I take a few steps down the hall before answering. "Hello?"

"Ross hun, I don't see you. Did you fall asleep on the bus?"

"No mom, I missed the bus. I'm still at school."

"Why are you still at school? Did you miss the bus hun?"

Oh god help me please.

"Can you just come get me please?" I sigh in annoyance, and hang up before she can respond. Great, I'm stranded.

I hear a click from behind me, and note the other guy I didn't see playing music a moment ago. His aggressive friend must still be in there, because he didn't come out with him.

I expect him to say something to me. Somewhere between 'watch your back' and 'sorry for that guy'. What I got was silence.

"Hey." I say, too curious for my own good, as he passes me. He turns around, and raises a brow. "Hey, um..." (Now what?) "I... That song sounded really good?" I say. All I have is honesty right now.

He smiles. "Thanks." He says, turns around, and starts walking again.

I think to try talking to him again, but this is already out of my comfort zone, and he doesn't seem to have much regard for me. I watch as he rounds the corner, and I figure I should either call my mom back or start walking home. If I hang around school any longer, I'm just going to get myself in more trouble.

~~~

"This is how I wanted to start my day..." I groan, as my math teacher twists the lock on the door, staring at my sorry face through the small glass panel before spinning around the start her class... without me. Miss the bus: check. Miss a class on the second day of school: check. I give up trying to get Mrs. Schwhatever's attention and wander back to my locker. I pretty much bolted through the doors without putting my stuff away. Great. Just so freaking great. What am I supposed to do for the next... forty two minutes?

I note two eccentric students walk by, likely seniors, holding bagels and juice pouches, laughing about something as they walk down the hall. I'm curious as to what has them so nonchalant at this time, five minutes after classes have started, and follow them. I shouldn't be surprised that they're music students, whom walk right in to the room I happened to invade yesterday evening. I hear the sound of string instruments scritching in discord as the music students get their instruments tuned for the day. At least, I assume that's what they're doing. I pray they aren't in the middle of a song right now. Again I'm dumb enough to poke my head in, and see students and their wood instruments scattered through the room, but no sign of those guys I saw last night. Given that mean boy's warnings, my guess is he wouldn't be caught DEAD in this place. His self-titled 'geek' friend isn't around either, perhaps he belongs to the school's band rather than the orchestra.

After more wandering (and a lot of hall-monitor dodging), I await at the door of my second class for it to end, so I can be the first one in. I am NOT going to let this day go anything like yesterday. ...or this morning. The bell tolls, and I wait for the stampede to clear before heading in to health class, and taking my seat in the far corner at the back of the classroom. Prime seats: the best part of showing up early. I lean back in accomplishment, and almost rocket back out when that rude guy from yesterday walks in.

Let me give a little better description. He's a bit tan, mid-short kinda black-brown hair, deceptive puppy eyes...

Anyway, he's not half-bad looking, and as I watch my peers pile in, I notice the ladies think so too. Girls sat next to, in front of, and behind him, and jealous boys took the outer seats. Something tells me this is going to be a fun class to watch drama unfold.

"Okay class, don't get too comfy. I'm going to read off your assigned seating starting in the front right. First; Ryan Ross."

So much for watching all the drama.

"Moving left... Pete Wentz."

Pretty boy stands from his seat, doesn't even look at me, and crashes into his new assigned desk for the semester. I have four and a half hour left until school lets out, I may as well start getting ready to catch the bus now given how this day has been going.

Our teacher finishes dolling out seating assignment, and moves right into our first lesson. No introduction shit? No 'find which people have been to three or more states' activities? Guess I'll just tune out and...

Mr. Doesn't-know-the-alphabet slaps his hands on my desk.

"No mobile devices in my class." He announces loudly, putting me on the spot.

"I was just gonna listen to some music." I argue, scrunching my face.

"I will not have you playing music in my class, this is a time for learning, and you will pay attention."

God. Good to know my 'required elective' teacher has a stick up his ass.

"I was gonna use my ear buds, it won't disrupt class." I reason, and he doesn't seem amused. Being in the front row is hard, I guess I've always gotten lucky getting a back seat. Even when it's assigned seating, 'R' is at the end of the alphabet and I'm usually at least in the farthest row.

"Out." He snaps, pointing to the door.

"Glad I could be made an example of." I mutter as I stand, but only pretty boy caught it, at least I think so, because for the first time today he glances in my direction. I spin towards the door, and leave promptly.

Classes missed so far today: 2 out of 2. Truth be told I don't really want to be in there with that guy anyway after his threats yesterday. Who knows what the big deal is, but if word gets out 'pretty boy' was seen with 'band geek'...? I'm not interested in finding out. Looks like I'll be taking health class again my senior year. All I can think to do now is search for more hidden junctions about the school, and disregard the trouble my curiosity gets me into.

I somehow manage to make my way to the concert hall. This place is huge... All I had to do was keep walking past where the orchestra and band rooms were until I saw some guy unlock a back door leading to a stage, and caught it just before it shut to follow in after. And, here I am.

Gazing around the tall ceilings and cage stairs, I try to find out just how that guy got up to the catwalk so fast. I note a ladder to my left, and proceed upwards. The walk goes from stage lights fixated across two balcony sides, then back and up to more stairs, and a line of ropes which I imagine must move the curtains and lighting. ...I'm not too keen on the tech side of the theatrical world. As I make my way from one side of the room to another, a light comes on and brightens the entire concert hall.

...wait, no, it's just one spotlight, pointed directly at me.

I quickly walk out of it, but it follows me. My eyes sting from looking at the light, and I instead run back to the other side. The stage light follows me as I stumble around the cat walk, until I jump over the balcony railing and find more maze-like paths behind the wall. Even though the room was slightly lit, I can't see a thing after being blinded by that light. I place my left hand against the wall, and tap my feat against each stair as I make my way further up. I find myself poking out to the theatre again, except this time I'm behind the light. A ladder leads up to a control booth, so I climb my way up and peer inside

I see the same guy I followed in press and hold a button on the panel. Without even turning his head, he addresses me over the theatre hall's intercom.

"You're pretty good at getting yourself into trouble, aren't you?" The announcement echoes over the stage. I imagine he must know I'm the only other person here, but what does he mean getting myself in trouble?

He turns around and opens the door to let me in. Oh! It's that geek with- what did my teacher call pretty boy? Pete was it? Music-geek offers me his hand, and assists me up off the ladder into the room.

"What are you doing up here? Don't you have class right now?" He asks me.

"Don't you?" I question.

He shakes his head. "I don't go to school here."

So what, you're some creep who hangs around after graduation? I guess he appears to be a few years older than me.

"I help out with the music program." He clarifies. "I lead the marching band at practice and parades, and act as a teacher's assistant a couple days a week for the men's chorus."

"And sometimes you go to the theatre hall and mess with the electronics?" I inquire.

He chuckles, and shrugs. "I'm just getting the hang of the controls again."

Sure seems like you have the spot-lights figured out pretty well.

"You didn't answer my question." He notes.

"Oh- uh, I skipped class." I tell him. "Actually, I got kicked out for listening to music." I admit.

"I meant the question about you looking for trouble, but I guess that answers it. What's your name?" He asks now.

"Why? Are you gonna turn me in to the principal or something?"

He laughs. "You clearly don't know me. My name is Patrick."

"Ross." I respond. "This is my first year at this school. Or in Illinois for that matter."

Let me tell you, this place keeps getting colder and colder. I mean the people AND the weather for that matter. It's nice to meet someone nice for once.

"So Ross, have you had any more run-ins with my buddy?"

I dart my eyes back and forth. "Uhh..."

"Oh calm down, no one's in here this early!" He holds his button over the intercom. "PETE WENTZ IS FRIENDS WITH A GEEK!" He shouts into the mic.

"Are you trying to get me killed?!" I freak, but he's just laughing his ass off.

"Pete's just worried about his rep, he'll get over it eventually." Patrick says. "Oh, and he's all talk too. Don't worry."

So he says. He didn't seem all-talk when he held me by the neck of my shirt and slammed me against the door.

"Truth is, Pete doesn't realize reputations are just illusions." Patrick continues. "You'll realize it too one day."

I point to myself in question. "M-me? Oh I'm not much one to care..."

"Hmh." He shrugs. "Well, you're welcome to hide out up here whenever you feel like skipping. I won't tell anyone."

I nod. "Thanks."

...

"ROSS IS SKIPPING CLASS IN THE TECH BOOTH!" He calls over the intercom.

"STOP IT!" I say, balling my fists.

"Oh? I thought you said you didn't care." He laughs over the intercom.

"How do you know no one else is in here, huh? I could get in trouble." I explain.

"Cameras." He answers, pointing to a screen with multiple camera displays on it. "That's how I caught you following me here to begin with. And if you're really that worried about getting in trouble you wouldn't have gotten kicked out of class. For listening to music." He adds.

I look closer at the cameras. It seems there's one with red lines around it: pointed at the tech booth we're in. I assume it must indicate movement, seeing as though the rest were still. It's true, everyone else must be in class.

"To be honest, I was trying to leave." I admit. "I was placed next to your friend in the front row. He kinda makes me, um, uncomfortable."

"You mean you don't like being knocked around and held up by your throat?" He chuckles.

"Well, not by just ANYONE." I tease.

He punches me in the shoulder. "Ay there ya go! You're starting to loosen up a bit!"

I mean, I gotta talk to someone in this town, and, it's not like I can really say anything about that Pete guy to anyone else without worrying about him throwing me in a dumpster or something.

"I think I'm gonna see if lunch has started though, but I'm sure I'll see you poking your head around the school at some point." Patrick says. "Like I said, feel free to hang out here whenever you feel like it too."

With that, he leaves down the ladder and I watch the red lines across the camera until all movement stops and it's just me in here. Come to think of it, I should probably find my next class. This one I've been to already, but it's free seating and I want to make sure I claim my territory of back row before someone else snatches it up.


	2. Reputation

I successfully step off the bus- finally, something going right- and make my way inside. Me and mom live in a small apartment off the side of the city, she's often busy with work since she got this promotion. I don't know why they made us up and re-locate, but whatever it is her boss has her doing is taking a tremendous amount of her time and effort. She's been a bit of an air head because of it in regards to my needs, but I'm becoming more self-dependent because of it. Now that school's started too, I really gotta watch my own back. And, maybe try not to miss any more busses.

"Hey hun, how was school?"

I shrug, and lug my backpack off my shoulder. "It was okay." I reply.

"Did you make any new friends?" She asks, as she seems to be heating up something on the stove.

I shake my head in response. "Not really."

"Oh how wonderful! I knew you would do good today."

"Mom, are you even listening?"

"Me too, you're right. Better get started on that homework."

Obviously not. I peer over her shoulder to see what's for dinner. Bacon. Still in it's packaging.

"I skipped my second class and ate candy for lunch. In short, I'm planning on failing health class and ditching every day."

"Oh that's great news hun. I'm sure she'll see it your way in time, just give her a little time and-"

"MOM." I shout.

She's startled. "Ross? When did you get home?"

"Mom..." I grumble. "Get it together!"

"Oh- hang on a moment sweetie, Ross missed the bus and I have to go pick him up from school. Can you watch the food for me?"

I peer over at the styrofoam and cling wrap burning over the stove. I'm surprised she hasn't been poisoned by this point.

"Yeah, I wanted to be alone anyway..." I sigh.

"Thanks hun. I'll be back in a few."

It's a wonder how that women drives places in one piece. I can tell she hasn't slept in a while, I just hope this won't get any worse. After switching off the stove, I climb the stairs up to my room and toss my bag on my bed. I plop myself down too, and check outside my window to see if mom's left yet. Sure enough she's pulling out of the driveway. Going, going... gone.

There and back should take her a good forty minutes, and I'm sure she'll call when she gets to the school- at least, she did last time. Then again, knowing that lady you really can't be sure of anything she does. Odds are she'll end up halfway across Michigan before I've finished with what I'm about to be doing.

I look around my room like a complete idiot. I know there shouldn't be anyone here- and even if there were, what I'm about to do would be the least of my worries. Still, I think I'd rather die then let anyone see me with...

Coast is clear. It's been so long since I've done this, and I start to feel a little anxious. A little aroused too. One last time I check out the window, shut my blinds, lock my door, and set up my music- not too loud, lest mom has a magical moment of clarity and realizes I asked her for a ride yesterday. I flick on my lights, and go in my closet. Inside, I find stashed under blankets and clothes a wooden box. In it contains a variety of sexual magazines. Oh, I'm not worried about those. Everyone masturbates (probably), I'm not ashamed of that. I raise a compartment in the box to reveal the true secret.

Blush, lip-stick, pale foundation, and eye liner.

I smile, delighted to see these items haven't been tampered with in my travel. If anyone ever DID see me stuffing some items into this box hastily, they would open it and see the porn. Ross hides sexy magazines, case closed. No one would ever suspect there to be anything more.

I gather my materials, and place them in my bathroom. I take a cloth and wipe off my mirror before I start.

First, foundation. I chose a color lighter than my natural skin color, it makes my other features- my eyes and lips, and my hair too- pop. I brush it across my face, and bled it at my neck with a foundation matching my natural tone. Next I highlight my cheek bones with a pale-rose blush. It's barely noticeable that I'm wearing it, but as I turn my head I am pleased with the dimension it gives. Lip stick. I chose a dark red-pink. Dark in the sense of black vs white rather than bold vs pale. This lipstick is noticeable, unlike my cheeks. I take the tip of the cue-tip like sponge, and outline my lips first then dip the sponge again to fill. Last; eye liner. Not a light blue, not a blendy-green, not some accented pink, no. This is black. Dark, pitch black, very standing-out eye liner that make my amber eyes appear bigger and brighter than the rest of my face. I draw a thick line across my top lid, pulling my eye opposite my bridge to make it even. Liquid eye liner with a very fine brush is the best way to do this, and a steady hand of course. After both tops are done, on to the hard part. Bottom lid. I take my brush and carefully line below my bottom lashes. The hard part: above the lashes. It stings with the liquid eye-liner, but pencils turn out imperfect. Liquid spreads until the surface is covered, and the brush helps move in between the lashes so there's no spaces between the lines above and below. I carefully start closest to my lashes, but the liquid meanders toward my eyes and by the time I'm done, both of them. It takes everything in me not to tear, lest I ruin the makeup before it sets. I dry up welling tears with a tissue, and bring my head down.

Beautiful...

I nearly melt. I'm so freaking infatuated with myself... but damn I look good. My eyes go dreamy as I smile dumbly at the mirror. My face so smooth and light, my complexion soft, eyes dark and half-closed, lips parted...

I nearly shoot through the roof when my phone buzzes. "HOLY SHIT" I scream, and my phone continues to buzz. I pick it up in my shaky hands, and calm myself before opening my phone and holding it close to my ear- extra careful not to ruin my masterpiece.

"Ryan I'm at the school, where are you?"

I gulp. "I caught the bus today. I'm home."

"Then why did you call for a ride?"

I click 'end', and sigh loudly. A half an hour of perfect detail to be whisked away only after seconds of enjoying it. I take all of my supplies and tuck them away in their home before looking in the mirror one last time.

I glance at my phone sitting on the counter, then return to my reflection.

Oh man. I mean, look at me. I've never looked this irresistible in my life. Forget pictures in magazines, I could get off to a photo of me looking like this. But if anyone knew just how completely infatuated I am with myself, if anyone knew of what I did when no one else is looking...

Again a tad shaky, I pick up my phone. My reflection starring back at me fills me with confidence though, and I hold my phone up and ready myself to snap a picture. I pose with my eyes looking up at the lens, and loosen my lips just a little.

It's just a flip phone, but the quality of these photos are much greater than what you would expect. I look back at the photo, the picture was a little off angle so I take a few more until I get it just right. I move back and take a full body photo. I should have thought to put on some nicer clothes before I started- no, no. There wasn't enough time anyway. I am able to get my shirt off without damaging my make-up, however, and take a shirtless pic. God damn. I HAVE to keep these. I'll be kicking myself later if I delete them. I decide to take just one more; posing with my hand in my pants. I make a pleasurable expression (not a difficult task) and snap it, I'm completely impressed. I want to take more, but instead pose in different ways in the mirror. I move closer, further, touch myself in different places; my hips, my ass, my cock...

A door opens and closes down stairs, and I jump a little. Twenty minutes already? Though it kills me every time, I run a cloth under hot water and wash away the evidence as quickly as possible. My box is already tucked away, and seeing as though my shirt's already off, I remove the rest of my clothing and hop in the shower.

"Ross honey?" My mom calls after knocking on the door. "Are you home?"

"No mom, I'm a burglar here to steal your son and all your possessions." I reply.

"Okay sweetie, I'm just glad you're safe." She replies, and I hear her steps as she makes her way back down the stairs.

I roll my eyes. Lunatic.

I find myself humming a tune I'm not quite sure where from as rub my hair with shampoo. I glance in a small mirror in the shower, which I use when shaving my face. My face just doesn't look as impressive without makeup, I wonder if this is how girls feel on a day-to-day basis. It's socially acceptable for girls to wear makeup though. Actually, given how cruel high-school kids are (especially in this cold town), some girls may be shunned NOT to. It's different for me. While covering my face in a way to make my features pop gives me an incredible burst of confidence, wearing it in public would be reason for others to laugh at me. I guess Patrick has a point, maybe I do care about what others think of me. ...then again, this isn't a matter of me trying to impress other people like Pete seems to be. This is a matter of me hiding who I am. It's a different of a situation, and really, it's socially abnormal for a guy to wear makeup in public. Once I've finished washing my hair, I check my face and eyes one last time to make sure all residue has been washed away before twisting the water off and stepping out of the shower.

I manage to stay out of trouble for the rest of the week; spare a run in with a hall monitor while skipping health class. I've become a lot more wise on the layout of this school as I've been exploring in my free time. Thankfully I hadn't run in to any more secret rehearsals during my exploration, though, I did run in to Patrick a few times in the tech lab. He's a pretty cool dude actually, I can't believe his friend Pete is ashamed to be seen with him. I on the other hand tend to avoid pretty boy at all costs. It's not hard, seeing as though I'm generally a quiet guy keeping my distance and I gather he must be the second most popular thing in school: first place goes to pumpkin spice lattes (really, fall can end now. I'll take the harsh Chicago winter over the smell of pumpkin coffee wafting through the hallways any weekday morning). Needless to say I'm not much a concern of the going-ons in school, and I'd like to keep it that way.

"I'm surprised he's into music given his reputation." I ponder. Patrick was walking aside me as we make our way across the catwalk above stage. "At my old school, the most popular guy was the quarterback of the varsity football team."

"As much as you've told me about the things you DON'T like, you sure do talk a lot about your old school and Pete." Patrick notes.

I squint my eyes. "Well I gotta complain to someone!" I reason.

"Why so defensive? It was just an observation." He tells me. "And by the way, no one in this school knows Pete's even laid fingers on an instrument. He's not all that much of a 'cool kid', he's got more of a bad-boy rep about him."

"That explains the empty threats." I say, trying to ignore his 'observations'.

"Besides, our sports teams suck here. That's why we have a huge concert hall- there's such a demand for theatre and music by the students, this school can afford to take cuts on the sports facilities."

"Looks like they took cuts in hiring decent health class teachers who don't flip assigning seats backwards too." I grunt.

"You keep saying that, but Pete's last name starts with a 'W'." Patrick clarifies. "I think your teacher must have randomized the seating, don't you?"

R... W... Come to think of it...

"Regardless- something needs to be done about that fiend." I state.

"Oh no, someone's trying to move me away from my comfort zone! How horrible!" Patrick mocks, then returns to his normal voice. "Give him a break Ross, it's healthy to have a little change in your life."

I grunt.

"Not that you'd know that, because you keep skipping." He laughs.

"Only because I'm trying to avoid stupid Pete!" I explain.

"There, see. You're complaining about Pete again. You can't even have a full conversation without bringing him up."

"Ahhhhg!" I grunt. "Look- it's hard for me to keep a secret, okay? I just... I gotta talk to SOMEONE about it, and you're the only other someone in this school who knows Pete's friends with you."

"Pete knows too, why not ask him about it?" Patrick suggests.

"Are you crazy?! No! He'll have my head!"

He laughs now. "Relax! I'm just giving you a hard time, would you calm down?"

I take a deep breath. "Meany." I grumble.

Patrick pats me on the head. "You gotta lighten up more Ross, seriously. If you're stuffy all the time I'm gonna run out if ways to pick on you too quickly. And then what fun would that be?"

I punch him in the shoulder: much like he's done to me before. "Alright you jerk, if you say so."

We both laugh.

"Patrick."

Our laughter is cut off by- oh...

"Hey Pete, you come looking for me again?" Patrick asks. "Honestly we have to stop meeting up like this, I miss you ever so my darling."

"Enough!" Pete says, stamping his foot. "You're gonna give that loser the wrong idea if you keep goofing around like that. What if someone actually believes you? Then what? You'll have a label too, that's what."

Good to see these two maintain a healthy friendship. It's just awkward to be in the middle of it but hey, that's Patrick for you.

"Heh! It's so easy to rile you guys up! Both you kids need to take a chill pill and calm your defensive asses down."

"Can asses be defensive...?" I ponder aloud.

"Can it, peanut gallery." Pete snaps. "Patrick. Rehearsal. Orchestra room. Now"

Patrick shrugs. "Well, if you mustn't wait a moment longer...."

"Patrick..." Pete says warningly.

"Alright alright!" He spins around to face me before leaving. "See ya tomorrow in second hour, Ross." He says, and follows Pete; who's halfway down the music hall at this point.

"See ya." I reply, and am left awkwardly standing by myself on the catwalk. I really only come up here to talk to Patrick, and I know my way around already. I make my way back through and hop over the balcony railing. My shoe string catches on the elaborate design though, and I take a moment to tie it.

"I'm telling you, he left already." I hear a familiar voice echo from the stage. "Come on, it'll sound so much better on stage. No one else is here, I promise!"

I peek out from the side of the balcony to find Patrick near-dragging Pete on stage.

"I promise there's no one here." Pete mocks. "Sound familiar? What about that kid walking in on us in the first place? Anyone could walk in the theatre at any time."

He shakes his head. "I'm the only one with a key to the back door, and all stage doors are locked when there's no performances going on. They lock behind someone when they leave, there's no way Ross or anyone else is gonna get in here." Patrick explains.

Pete seems to contemplate this for a moment. "Okay, fine." He gives. "But I know you're lying about being the only one with a key. The janitor has keys to the whole school, so does the choir director and the theatre teacher."

"So? Let's play some music!" Patrick sings, and strums all strings on Pete's guitar. Pete, though seeming agitated, starts with his intro. They sing something about lighten up, I think, I really stopped paying attention after they stopped three measures into the song to revise. They sure have a lot of practicing to do, but if Pete doesn't want to be seen with Patrick, what exactly are they practicing for? The nearest concert isn't until the winter semester, and something tells me Pete doesn't want to perform in front of probably more than half the school given Patricks's accounts on the demand for the music program. Eventually I tire and leave, and make my way early to my locker before the last class gets out for the day.


	3. Audition

I lay my head down for the night, and shut my blinds to keep the headlights outside from keeping me up. Some people need a night-light to sleep, but I can only sleep in pitch black.

The darkness shrouding me gives me a feeling of comfort and security. That day Patrick shone that big stage light on me: not such a secure feeling. Being under the lights makes me feel so exposed, maybe that's why I had trouble picking up music again since I've been here. I hate going on stage, and performing in front of people. Fuck that. I can play so good alone in my room with no one watching. I can look pretty good too. It sucks having the potential and charm of a super star and not being about to do anything about it. ...okay, maybe not a super star, but I have talent. I was top of my class in orchestra on violin, it's not so hard playing in a classroom full of people you know. I skipped all concert days; I always happened to conveniently get sick, and the group performed without their best violinist. Eventually my teacher caught on, and stopped letting me play the solo's. It's too bad my stage fright holds me back. Anyway, when I made the change over to the new school, I thought about having to audition for a teacher I don't know, and having to play in a classroom of people I don't know. The thought scared me, but ever since Patrick told me he holds all auditions for the orchestra, band, and choir, it crossed my mind to maybe try out.

I'm not looking to be a violinist beyond high school though. A performer, maybe, but I'd have to work on my stage fright before that, and that isn't happening any time soon! A small voice mocks me in my head 'Oh no, someone's trying to move me away from my comfort zone! How horrible!'. Patrick can say what he likes, I shouldn't have to do anything I'm uncomfortable doing. Still, I know I can't move forward with my life until I do, or I can live my life in the confines of safety and work some desk job that doesn't require me to interact with people. You know, maybe I'll just be a bum. That'll be fine. Yeah.

I flip over to my other side. I'll worry about all that later. In the mean time, I'll practice my guitar locked away in my room when no one's home. That's a lot easier to do living with my workaholic mom.

Sounds of cars keep me up, and I can't sleep. I flip over and press a button to check my alarm clock. 2:23. I reach over for my phone now, and turn my alarm light back off when the light of my flip phone illuminates. I use the light to briefly scan around the room before opening my photos, and scrolling until I find the pictures I took of myself a week ago. I find the first one, and a stupid smile falls over my face. It's not as good as the real thing, but oh I can still get off to this. I lay my phone on it's side and shimmy down my pants until my cock is free. I touch myself while studying over the picture, enjoying every careful detail of my face. I arrow over to the next photo, and wrap my fingers around my dick. In this one, I'm posing with my hand on my ass, looking over my shoulder into my phone camera pointed at the mirror. I take my hand from my cock for a moment to grab my ass, then run my finger across the crevice between my cheeks. Next pic, a close-up of my eyes. I move my phone closer, and stare into the amber crystals that seemed to radiate with darkness. I tug on my cock, and squeeze a little tighter. Next. A photo of me with my hand in my pants. I barely keep myself from emitting a low growl as I recall taking this one. It's one thing to have pictures of myself on my phone, but something like this..? This is... this is so good.

My eyes roll to the back of my skull as I work my cock through my fist. I picture my image, my charm, my beauty.

"Mmmmh...!" I quietly sigh as I cum into my hand, and try to regulate my breathing lest anyone hear a thing. I shut my phone without looking at it again, and shut my eyes.

~~~

"Patrick!" I call when I identify the back of his head leaving the music hall. He doesn't hear me, so I speed-walk through the crowd to catch up.

"Hey!" Patrick greets when I run up beside him. "What brings you down this side of the school?" He asks. "Around this time anyway."

He sure is observant.

"I have the last lunch block today." I reply. "I wanted to ask you about something though. You said you do auditions for the band and orchestra too, right?"

"Did." He corrects. "Auditions ended before school even started."

"Oh." I say, and not sure if I'm disappointed or relieved.

"Don't tell me you wanted to join." He speculates.

"I mean... I guess I just wanted to see if you would pass me." I admit.

He pauses for a moment. "Okay." He finally says. "Stop by the choir office after school tomorrow. Bring your... whatever it is you play, and I'll tell you if you pass or not."

"R-really?" I gleem.

He smiles in response. "Alright kid, I gotta take off, but I'll see you tomorrow. Have a piece prepared, somewhere around two and a half minutes long, alright?"

"Y-yes, of course!" I reply. Again- not sure if I'm excited or nervous. I'm doing it now though if there's a chance I can finally DO something for my second hour- rather than skip health class and roam the halls.

I practice diligently on the violin, pulling out old sheet music from previous classes and solos, trying to find the piece that showed off my talents the best. Fast pace... Moody... Stylistic... I can only fit so many factors into a two and a half minute song without it sounding choppy. After hours of looking for the right piece and no luck, I decide to call a friend from California.

"Who is this?" The voice answers.

"Brendon...?" I ask.

"You can't be Brendon, I'm Brendon." He answers. "Is this a prank call?!"

"Brendon- no, it's me!" I explain. "It's Ross."

I hear silence, then I hear sharp inhaling, as if he'd just been laughing really hard. "No fucking way. Ross? Man I haven't heard from you in ages, holy shit man!"

I laugh a little. "Sorry I haven't called, trying to keep my crazy mom in line takes a lot of work."

"I know it!" He laughs. "But, sorry." He sympathizes.

"Don't be. I'm just happy to talk to you!" I sing-song. "But- why didn't you ever call me?"

"My phone took a dive off the pier, and, the memory couldn't be saved."

"Tragic." I cringe.

"But hey, it's good to hear you're doing alright. Thanks for calling."

"Brendon wait wait wait!" I panic, and wait a moment to see if he hasn't hung up. "I wanted to get your opinion on something."

"Is it about a girl? Did you meet someone?!" He asks, a little too excited.

"No no- I haven't met anyone!" I say defensively. "I need your opinion on a music piece."

"Even better!" He chimes. "So you finally wrote more songs? Hang on- I'm logging on to my laptop right this moment. Send them over IMMEDIATELY Ross."

"Brendon, it's not about my composing either!" I tell him. "But... I do have a few new songs if you'd like me to send them over later."

"Yes!" He cheers.

"An-y-way..." I drag. "I need your opinion on which song from orchestra I should play at my audition."

"Oh, is that all?" He asks. "That's easy."

"I haven't even told you which songs I'm considering!" I accuse.

"You gotta play what's in your heart."

Oh here we go...

"Play what speaks to you, in the moment, that you can play with the more passion than anything else." He says whimsically.

"So, a power ballad?" I clarify.

"You're not getting it." Brendon sighs.

"Clearly."

Another sigh on his end, then "Send me the music. YOUR music." He clarifies.

"Okay, but I'm sending over my audition pieces too." I say. "At the very least pick one you think I'd do good at."

I here him snicker, somehow, then the call ends. Well, I said I would send it over... I pop onto my laptop chair and search for my music files. After everything is sent over, I dial Brendon again, only for him not to respond. I then text him. Yo, you better look over those pieces and tell me which one to play. I text him. It wasn't until later that night that I received a response.

Time to Dance.

I stare at my phone, puzzled. It's 12:48 in the morning, what does that have to do with dancing? Then I remember which documents I sent him.

I'm not playing my own music. I send back. Besides, I don't have anything written to adapt to the violin anyway.

I receive a response instantly, as if he ready knew what I was gonna say, or maybe he was in the middle of texting me again and I happened to finish my text first. Regardless, I too already knew what his response would be.

Play what's in your heart.

He always gives me that spiel. Doesn't he understand I'm trying to shoot for my highest potential? This is why we could never be in a REAL band together. Well, not that the band is together now anyway.

I decide not to respond, and sleep on it. Maybe he has a point; it's not like Brendon would know it, but Patrick is more of a wild guy, he doesn't come off as the chorus/orchestra type. Maybe to impress him, I need to play something he'll like rather than thinking he'll critique my skill. If this were a real teacher, he or she would take every aspect of my playing into consideration. Then again, I guess broken bands and broken judgement aren't any less real. (That would make a REALLY good song title.) I start to doze off, and figure I can make a decision tomorrow.

I was nervous to perform for Patrick, but after mulling it over I decide the best thing to do is play a professional, classical piece. Mid-way through the song though, he stops me.

"Ryan what are you doing?" He huffs.

Am I really that bad...?

"This song is completely bland. Can't you play something with a little more, I dunno, spunk?" Patrick complains.

I raise a brow. Spunk?

"Well... I guess there is something I could play." I say softly.

"Well, let's hear it!" Patrick prompts.

I take a deep breath, and pluck my strings trying to find the right sound. I find the intro to 'Time to Dance', and roll with it. Lifting my bow to the bridge, I sway to the imaginary beat of the song. He lets me finish this one, all the while bobbing his head. He even clapped for me by the end.

"That was awesome!!" Patrick cheers.

"Th-thanks." I chuckle. "I, um, haven't written any lyrics to that one yet. It's just, um, catchy beat..."

"You wrote that?" He asks. "That's impressive."

"Sooo," I trail "does that mean I can get into the class orchestra?"

"Oh, yeah. I would totally pass you."

"Yes!" I prematurely cheer. "Thank you thank you I- wait... would?"

He nods and laughs. "I told you before Ross, auditions are already over. The class is closed, no one can join at this point."

"But you said-"

"I said I'd tell you if I'd pass you or not." He reiterates.

Damn it!

"Don't look so disappointed." He tells me. "I mean it, I'm really impressed with your playing... and your composition. And, even though you can't join the orchestra this year, you can still take part in our winter festival."

Winter festival? He could tell by the look on my face I wasn't sure what that was.

"It's a concert we hold at the middle of the semester that we open up to all the students- even the ones from our rival school because they don't have as big of facilities as we do. We've also had talented musicians from the middle school perform."

Well that's out of the question. There's no way anyone's getting me out on that stage under all those bright lights.

"Oh, I see." I reply blandly.

Patrick pats me on the back. "Think about it. You have some time to."

He's about to leave. "Patrick." I stop him with one more question before he does.

Patrick spins around and watches me intently.

"So, was that what you and Pete were doing the other day? Practicing for the festival?"

He shakes his head. "Oh no, Pete wouldn't be caught dead on that stage."

Before I can ask what they were doing...

"We're in a band."


	4. Negotiations

My stupid Health teacher was rambling about... something stupid probably. It's not the easiest thing to tune him out from up front, but I had a lot on my mind.

I missed too many classes, and he said he'd fail me if I skipped again, so here I am. I could have dropped the class if I'd gotten into the chamber orchestra, but auditions ended for that long ago. The good news is Pete doesn't seem to be present. I wonder if he's practicing with Patrick?

Bringing me to the most prominent thing that's been on my mind today; pretty boy and super senior have their own band. I wanted to start a band back in Cali. I had all the pieces besides lyrics and a singer, which are kinda essential to the process. It seems that Patrick's 'band'... if that's what he calls it, has a singer, but do they have any other members? Do they even have original music? Did Patrick write that song they were practicing earlier? I have so many questions for him, I wish I could sneak off to the auditorium and visit but then again my troublesome classmate is possibly with him now and his absence is the one thing I have going for me in this class at the moment.

I peer at the empty seat next to me. I wonder where I'd be had I written lyrics to some of my older songs before moving. Would I be practicing with my band right now? Mr. overly-strict slams his hands down on my desk, immediately shaking me to attention.

"-should be taking notes." I hear him say as I sneak an earbud out behind my hoodie. He catches me though and yanks them out of the neck of my shirt, pulling my phone out of my pocket with them and disconnecting it, sending it crashing to the ground. I lean down to grab it but he snags it before I can.

He looks furious.

"No more music, no more phone. You get these back at the end of the day."

"End of the day?!" I whine like a kid who's just had their toys taken away.

He pockets both of them. "That's being generous may I add. Next time I see these they're being sent to the principal for a week."

I cross my arms and slouch back in my chair. He slaps a pen atop my notebook, and returns to his lesson.

I roll my eyes and flip it open. I'm more than a week into classes and every page is blank, spare a small doodle I drew on the back cover before I lost my pencil.

I listen blankly to the lesson before deciding I could probably give this whole thing a try.

Give me envy give me malice give me your attention.

I had some lyrics in mind after all. Some. And I wanted to perfect it before I wrote it down, I haven't had much time though. Maybe writing it will help me with editing. And, Patrick did say he liked the song.

More words fall onto the page, I hear the notes, the duration, the melodies as they fall into place with the piece. I wish I had my laptop to compare with the sheet music. Before I know it class ends, and I almost forget to pick up my phone and earbuds before rushing out.

Mr. jerk-face taps on my shoulder, and I give him an annoyed expression before I see he's handing me my belongings.

I stopped showing up to lunch eventually. I wanted to visit with Patrick up at the catwalk because he actually listens to me. I could talk to him about absolutely everything (well, aside from my private makeup rituals) from my issues with my crazy mom to the progress I've made with my music, and he never interrupts me.

"Pete's a writer too you know."

I had gotten to know more about Patrick- er, Pete's band since I've been up here more often, but never in a million years could I imagine that dark brooding boy as a writer.

...scratch that, now that I think about it, it all makes sense.

I just hate to think he and I have something like that in common, especially something so meaningful to me. Patrick's made me realize I have a lot in common with the other boy though. Maybe it was intentional, like he wanted me and Pete to get along or something.

As it got closer to the festival my chat time with Patrick was reprioritized with rehearsal time. I still skipped lunch to watch them practice; on stage when no one was there or some days they practiced in the orchestra room. For the first few times I had to hide but eventually Patrick convinced his picky partner to let me watch, claiming I already knew about it so what was the big deal? Pete reluctantly agreed, but I wasn't so sure I wanted to keep attending their practice sessions. I missed talking to Patrick and I only used the time to work on my own music, which I could do anywhere. Their progress ended up inspiring me though- not just my writing, but it made me realize I could do more than just strum my guitar home alone. My notebook filled fast with notes from mini-meetings they had, and I even took a short video of them bantering over lyrics and melodies.

I continued to meet up with the boys at lunch, and after school worked to piece together a band of my own, using the what I learned from Pete and Patrick. I found a drummer from the rival school with talent and snatched him up before Patrick and Pete could, but they don't seem to interested in adding more members as Patrick can play guitar and sing at the same time, and he's so familiar with that tech booth up there he's found a way to hook up the percussions electronically via recording. Pete's lucky to have such a multi-talented partner. He's always so bossy towards Patrick during rehearsal. I'd mind but it seems Patrick doesn't pay any mind or care at all for that matter.

Pete's good, though. I hate to admit anything good about him, but I can tell he has talent. I manage to find a base player, though not one to match his caliber, within the halls of the school. I had everything I needed- music, a band, lyrics, I was only missing one thing...

"Sounds like a personal problem." Brendon snorts. I haven't called to talk to him since I asked him for audition advice, but he was just going to be same old normal Brendon one way or another.

I like it that way though.

"The Festival starts in less than a week, this is a serious problem! It's like I'm starting at square one again." I mope.

"Not exactly at square one. You have lyrics and a will to perform, I'd say that's grounds for square two!"

He was right about one thing at least.

We were staying in contact via email. I had been sending him updated music scores as I worked in lyrics and re-wrote melodies. Actually, he's the only other person who's seen my lyrics aside from a certain nosey boy in health class that liked to peer over at my notebook. I scowled at him one time and that was enough to get him to stop, or at least be more subtle, but I guess it's only fair he gets to see my lyrics when I've heard many of his performed.

"Well what about your band? Can't you just have one of them sing?" He asks, knowing me singing was out of the question.

...I don't sing.

"Maybe. I don't know if they can sing or not." I ponder.

"Haven't you showed them the lyrics?"

There's a faint static between the lines that can be heard over the impending silence.

"...you, did show those guys the lyrics, right?"

I wonder if this is what sound waves sound like? It's kinda like a wavey sound I guess, with the way it-

"Ryan Ross!" Brendon scolds, and it startles me.

"Well it's personal! You know that. I can't just show them to anyone."

"How are you going to have a band if you can't even share your personal lyrics with them? You gonna ask then to cover their ears while they play?"

And the audience if that's the case.

"You're going to have to actually tell them what they're playing. What if they don't like it?"

What if they don't like it?! That's exactly what I'm afraid of. Isn't he supposed to be helping me?

I get his point though.

Brendon makes me promise to share my lyrics with the band, then we hang up. I have to show it to someone if I want to find someone to sing after all, and maybe one of the guys has a decent voice.

I'm at another of Patrick's rehearsals when Pete angrily stops in the middle of a song. As the concert drew closer, their practice sessions grew more intense.

"You came in too soon."

It wasn't Pete stopping to yell at his singer anymore though. He was more so becoming angry with himself.

He puts a lot of pressure on himself, I've noticed. He does good in class too, it makes me wonder what his home life is like. I've wondered what goes through his head too, listening to his lyrics. Maybe that's why I'm afraid to let anyone else hear my songs; because I think they'll analyze it all and learn about my psyche and feelings and shit. Pete didn't seem to care so much about that as his reputation. Which, brings me to a question I haven't yet asked Patrick.

Why is Pete practicing for a school concert that he isn't even planning on attending?

Patrick told me himself Pete wouldn't be caught dead with an instrument in this school, much less in his presence, so I can't imagine he'd want to get up on stage in front of all his peers and perform- especially with this school's music program being as big as Patrick's described it to be.

"Cut the beat." Patrick calls up to me at the booth. He's taught me a thing or two about the tech side. Aside from trolling over the intercom.

Pete pulls his mic down and I see him and Patrick arguing about something. Well, more so him pointing sharpened words at the blonde while Patrick just... listens, like he does.

Maybe they have a gig they're practicing for, and it happens to be around the same time as the concert. They've played gigs before, at bars, where none of the high school students could even get in to. ...unless they have a fake I.D. like Pete does. Regardless, even when they're practicing to perform Pete's never this tense. I've seen him angry, but never so stressed.

"Take it from the chorus!" Patrick yells up at me.

"Don't." Pete hisses into his mic.

I've also managed to get myself into the middle of their quarrel, as I continue to skip lunches to come here. Unfortunately for me, I'm committed.

"Practice has only started." Patrick comments. "We can't just argue about our mistakes the whole time, nothing will get fixed."

"You're right. Nothing will get fixed, because I'm quitting."

"Pete!"

"Pete..." I sigh from the booth.

"It's not working. It's not gonna happen, so just give up." Pete says to Patrick before pulling his mic away again.

Patrick rolls his eyes. "Start from the chorus." He calls up again.

"No!" Pete's voice booms so loud I can hear him fine without a mic.

I start the beat again anyway. Patrick begins playing, but Pete remains motionless, staring at his partner in rage.

"I said I quit Stump! This is pointless!" He yells over the beat and Patrick's guitar, and says something else that I can't quite make ouy. Patrick does though, and suddenly stops playing. The two stare at each other with nothing but the drum beat to cut the silence.

Pete drops his instrument and walks off stage, and I take that as my cue to kill the beat.

"Where did he go?" I say over the mic connected over the intercom.

Patrick shrugs, but I think he knew and wasn't telling me. "Stay there." He says, and disappears behind stage. Moments later he's climbing up to the booth. "It's gotten bad."

"What's the deal anyway? Is he having girl issues or something?"

Patrick laughs, and pulls my mic down from my face.

Oops. Still on intercom. I pray Pete didn't overhear that tidbit.

Patrick shakes his head. "No, no. Pete doesn't date."

Maybe you can't analyze lyrics for everything after all.

"He just... he's just nervous, I know it, but I think he'll get over it." Patrick admits, shaking his head like he doesn't believe himself. He changes the subject before I can ask. "How're your rehearsals coming? Did you find a singer?"

I've thought about asking Patrick. He has an honestly incredible voice. Their duo will go far some day. As for me? "No. I can't even bring myself to show the band the lyrics, much less a stranger. Not one song Patrick, I can't find any single one I'd want someone reading lest they think-"

"What? That it's bad?"

Not exactly...

"You've shown me, and I've already told you I like it. You said your friend back home liked it too, that's two for two."

He's kinda like Brendon, in some ways.

"As far as I'm concerned that's all it'll ever be."

He looks at me like he's angry. He gives me a look I saw him give Pete before the other boy stormed off stage.

"You have to get over your performing issues or... or you'll just be some kid skipping class and then you'll end up spending all your days hanging around your old high school because you didn't graduate and didn't do anything about your dreams and-"

He stops when he notices my look.

"Sorry." He says, looking away, rubbing the back of his neck.

I'm always the one complaining to him about my home life, my music, my friends.

Whatever's got Pete stressed, it's affecting Patrick too.

"Um..." I'm not sure what to say. "Um, everything okay?"

"Yeah." He looks hesitant, but I hold my gaze, trying to copy his caring and concerned look he's always granted me.

Then he tells me. He says he's tried year after year to get Pete to perform in this thing, while Patrick was still a student here and not an assistant teacher. He says Pete's always worried about how others would see him if he knew he hung out with the music teacher's pet. The 'geek', but those names weren't what bothered Patrick. He wanted to perform, he had a passion for it. He claims Pete does too. He says he'd finally gotten Pete to agree to playing at the winter festival this year- his senior year, because after this Pete would only have a semester left.

"Apparently it's more important that no one knows he knows me for the last two marking periods." Patrick sighs. I wait to see if he has anything more to say, but the silence is drawn out when I'm not sure what to say.

I wish there was something I could say, something that would take that disappointed look off Patrick's face. Then...

"Sing my songs."

"I can't."

It was a stupid idea. It was a stupid, spontaneous idea, but despite how stupid it was it made sense.

"I need a singer, and your songwriter quit. I know the concert's starting soon, but we could start practicing now, right now, and-"

I get up to get my music, but Patrick doesn't let me get that far.

"Ross, I... thank you. It's kind of you to offer, but this has more to do with than just the concert."

Pete.

"I want you to perform though. I'm gonna help you find a singer." He looks off at the stage. "I have some time now that I won't be performing in the festival after all."

I felt bad. He must have noticed.

"I'll talk some sense into Pete. He might fail his health class by the sounds of it, maybe I can hold him here another year and try again." He laughs to try to lighten the mood.

I could still hear the pain in his voice though. What the hell is Pete's problem? I hate the thought of confronting the boy. Pete scares me, kinda. I had to do something though. For Patrick, and for all Patrick's done for me.

"Hun dinner's gonna get cold if you don't hurry up and eat."

Mom sat alone at the table, melted ice cream on her dinner plate as she tries to slice it with a steak knife, only for it to slide down onto the ground.

"Feed mine to the dog." I say before leaving. We don't have a dog, but she seems to think we do. At least, she does when she asks if I've taken 'Fluffers' for a walk. For all I know she thinks this 'Fluffers' is an alligator who dances for the peasants below our magically binding spire, where the gnomes watch us to make sure we're counting the bustle sprouts each day for accuracy, lest they find out and steal more lint.

I've gotten used to it. Really.

I told her I had practice after school today anyway, that we were meeting up at Spencer's for rehearsal. Plans changed though, I had more important things to attend to, and I was going to do this. I was committed, no matter how afraid I may be. I just wish I had the same determination on finding a singer.

Pete only raises a brow when I knock at his door. I wasn't sure who would answer, though now that it's Pete I realize I haven't thought this through very far.

"You have to play in the concert." I state.

He rolls his eyes.

"...or I'll tell everyone you're friend's with Patrick." I threaten.

I expect him to grab my by the neck of my shirt and slam me into the back of the door, but I'm only given another eye roll.

"What are you gonna do, run down the halls and scream about it? Then who's gonna look like a wiredo?"

I had other plans.

I pull out my phone. I didn't want to have to resort to blackmail, but I had taken a recording of Pete and Patrick talking about their music. I hold my phone close to my chest and play just the audio, but it's enough to infuriate the other boy. I was pleased with the results I'd gotten up until he really does yank me by my shirt. He drags me inside and slams the door.

"It doesn't matter any more." I say though I'm nervous. "Your classmates and everyone will know you're friends with Patrick one way or another so you may as well play at the concert."

Pete shoves me, and tries to wrestle my phone away from me. I hold on tight, knowing he'd try this, and keep my grip as he twists my arms and wrist uncomfortably before finally giving up.

"Rrrrr!" He growls in rage. "I knew I shouldn't have let you watch us practice!"

I had only taken the recording because I thought their banter was informative, I never intended to do something like this, but now that I have it... "Patrick taught me how to use the tech booth. If you don't play at the concert I'm showing this on the projection."

"They won't let you up there."

"I volunteered to help with the sound crew." I smirk.

He shoves me again. "You'll get in trouble. You'll get expelled."

"It was an accident?" I try. I didn't really care if I got expelled though, I know mom wouldn't even notice.

"Your music is good Pete." I say. I'd never said it to him before, and I can tell it's taken him off guard. "Your peers should like you even more if they heard you perform any of those songs. You're incredibly talented, and a good writer too."

He stares at his shifting feet, melancholy hints in his soften tone as he says "your writing isn't half bad either you know."

Now it was my turn to drop my defenses. I don't like him as a person, but, that coming from him...

He sneers, and the next thing I know he's holding my phone. I try to snatch it back, but it's too late. He pushes me to the ground and I'm too stunned from the impact to move before he has the chance to pin me. He sits atop me, his knees holding my arms to the floor, leaving me helpless. "I'll just be deleting the video that you-" he stops suddenly, his eyes widen. "whoa."

"I swear to god Pete I'm gonna make you perform in that concert one way or another." I grit my teeth and ball my bound fists.

He smiles devilishly. "Oh Ross, darling, I think that's the least of your worries right now."

No...

Oh no.

He was typing something, and I hear the 'sent' tone swoosh over the speaker before he drops my phone on my chest and climbs off me, several pictures of myself still highlighted on my screen.

I feel the blood leave my face.

"Wh-who did you send these too." I demand.

"Myself." Pete smirks. "And if you want it to stay that way, you'll keep your mouth shut about my association with Patrick."

I can't even so much as utter the words 'blackmail' at this point.

"Out." Pete demands, his fingers pointed at the door I hadn't even realized he's opened.

I take my phone and leave.


	5. Reunion

Patrick's, well, upset.

"It's not even that big of a deal that you're friends. Why is he treating it like it's such a big secret? Who cares if it gets out?!"

"He does." Patrick sighs. "Ross if I thought I could have blackmailed him into playing the festival with me I could have played that card long ago."

He has a point.

"I'm sorry, Patrick." I sigh.

He shakes his head. "No, you had good intentions. Thanks for worrying about me." He says.

How does he always do that? How is he always so nice?

"It's too bad he deleted it from your phone. Not that I agree with what you wanted to do, but, it would have been pretty funny."

"Yeah..."

He didn't. Pete left the recording right where it was as if to taunt me to show it, because what he had on me was far worse and I think he'd almost like an excuse to leak those pictures to anyone or everyone.

It certainly wasn't funny in my case. What the hell was I thinking...?

Patrick's mood has lightened since yesterday, so at least there was that. As for me? I had to go to class. I say my goodbyes and almost miss second hour. I didn't want to go. I was this close to saying 'fuck it' and flunk but then I'd just end up having to take it as a senior like Pete. I wonder if Mr. ass-face put Pete up front because he failed the class so much... I'd never really thought about it. I was more worried about Pete than ever at the moment with what he knew, what information he had on me.

I was expecting something between smirks and snarls as I enter class, and left without even a glance from pretty boy. I was so distracted that by the time the day was over I even managed to lose my locker.

"Mom?" I ask over my phone when she picks up.

"Hi Ryan honey."

"Mom I missed the bus."

"On your first day?" I hear her click her tongue in disappointment.

"Could you just come get me please?"

"Hold on honey, I'm in the middle of bathing the kangaroo. Let me send Ryan to come get you, okay?"

"Mom- mom no! Mom!"

She hangs up, and I shut my phone violently and slouch against the wall.

"Need a ride?"

I'm startled.

"Why are you here so late? Don't you have, uh, dueling-in-roll-meant classes to attend?" I ask as he helps me to my feet.

"Dual enrollment." He corrects. "And the professor's sick today, so class is canceled."

They don't get a substitute teacher in colleges?

"I could use a ride, if you're free."

He nods. "Can't have my west coast buddy walking in the Chicago snow. I just need to close up some things in the auditorium."

He signals me to walk with him, and I follow.

"It was a good day for my teacher to get sick too, the choir teacher is running all her students through the program so I stayed behind to work the lighting." He continues to talk as we wind our way through the complicated theatre halls I've come to learn so well.

"Right, the festival's coming up soon." I remind myself.

"Guess neither of us will end up performing after all." Patrick states grimly.

I grit my teeth and look down as I recall my stupid mistakes.

Patrick punches my in the shoulder. "You always got next year. Maybe you'll have a singer by then." He smiles at me.

I felt worse about failing Patrick. He's the only one I have looking out for me in this town, I just wanted to give something back to him.

He flips a few switches, some I recognize and he messes with controls I have no clue what they go to- and we're pretty much in and out. He took me up through back stage as we always do, but when I receive a text from mom saying she's here he takes me out a shorter way.

I'm amazed when he opens a little door and in seconds we exit to the auditorium lobby.

"Why haven't we been going this way all along?!" I accuse after gathering my bearings on our location.

He shrugs. "Good exercise."

That's Patrick though, I should be used to his randomness by now. He walks me outside to make sure my mom's actually here to pick me up, lest I still need him to give me a ride. Once I spot her van he waves me off.

I hop in.

"How was school honey?"

I'm shaken and startled at the male voice that greeted me, and look to the drivers seat to see Brendon.

"What the- how in the- how did you-"

"SURPRISE!"

~~~

Brendon had, apparently come to visit. Mom must have sent him to come pick me up, but Brendon doesn't have a drivers license, and even on his permit I don't think he's ever driven in the snow.

Somehow, we make it home alive.

"Hello Ryan! Hi Ryan honey." Mom greets the two of us as we walk in.

"Hi mommy." Brendon says as we enter. "Hi fluffers." He waves at the sudsy leashed ham on the floor.

"I didn't even know we had a kangaroo." I shrug, and lead Brendon up to my room.

He looks around as we enter. "So this is where you've been staying." He looks at me then wriggles his brow. "So where do you hide the porn?"

I shove him. It was only playfully, but the topic of where I'm hiding that at the moment must have added some gusto into my push, because he almost falls over.

He just laughs, though.

"Knock it off Brendon, I don't look at porn."

"A little defensive, don't you think?" He teases.

If only I'd been a little more defensive earlier...

"But, yeah. This is where I've been." I point at my desk. "Emailing you from there."

He immediately walks over and picks up folders on my desk. He opens one and flips through the pages. "Is this your music?"

"That's my homework." I reply.

He looks on the cover, reading 'Math'. He opens it again. "None of these are done." He notes.

"I, uh, fell behind."

He studies them closer. "This is from the beginning of the school year."

"How could you know that?"

He pulls out my syllabus.

"It says 'sign and return September 3rd.'" He reads off.

"...really far behind." I correct.

He drops it in a pile on the ground and continues searching. "So where's the music? I printed out my copies but I know how often you change things."

He's still scanning through my papers on my desk. "I promise you're up to date Brendon. I haven't changed anything since I what I sent you last. I haven't had time to worry about my music, actually."

"'Cause of mom?" He asks.

Kinda. Not at all, actually.

"Well it doesn't matter. As long as I have the right copy." He claims.

"For what, exactly?"

He spins around to face me, and places his hands on his hips proudly.

"I'm gonna be your vocalist."

"You can't sing." He can't sing. Can he sing? No, I shake the thought from my head. "You can't sing." I repeat myself.

"I can sing."

"Can you sing?"

He laughs. "Yes, Ryan. Believe it or not I can."

No, no way. I've heard him belt renditions from 'Little Shop of Horrors' in the car, and the real horror was our singing, as mom always joked. It was all in good fun, but now....

"We aren't kids anymore. You're talking about performing in front of like, a school and a half and grandma and grandpa and the dog and the goldfish and-"

"The kangaroo."

I cross my arms. "What I'm saying is this is serious and, well, you can't sing."

He clears his throat. Is he really going to-

"This is the scent of dead skin on a linoleum floor, this is the scent of quarantine wings in a hospital!"

I nearly fall over from the gusto in his voice.

"Well?" He asks with the same prideful expression as before.

"That was..." he's awaiting my response. "Loud."

He seems unsatisfied.

"But good! You, you hit all those notes. How did you do that?"

He explains to me that he'd been taking vocal lessons since I left. I never knew Brendon had an interest in singing, but he's come a long way in half a year. ...not that I'd heard much out of him prior to leaving.

"That's not even how the song goes though." I point out.

We didn't argue on it for too long. Brendon and I made some adjustments to the melodies, ran through them, changed more things. We stayed up all night practicing and editing and spent the entire weekend practicing with the band. They were just as excited when I told them we'd be playing in the festival after all, though I wasn't entirely committed to it at first.

They loved the lyrics. Brendon was right, I needed to show them sooner, but they were into it and I felt good to share it with them. I had suddenly felt entirely anxious about performing; I was nervous and afraid to be on stage, but something about that nervousness made it all the more exciting and as the concert drew near I became more and more pumped.

I run into Patrick the day before. I haven't seen him since he saw me out the other day.

"Patrick!"

"You're in a good mood." He notes. If I weren't so thrilled with myself I might have noticed he was forcing a smile.

"I found someone to sing my lyrics!" I blurt out.

This time he smiles genuinely. "Ross that's fantastic!"

"We're gonna perform. We're gonna play that song I played for you-"

"Time to Dance." We say in unison.

"But this time there's lyrics and a singer and electricity and fireworks and rainbows and magic!" I say all too excited.

He laughs with me and stops my bouncing with a hand on my shoulder. "I'm happy for you." He states. "I'll be cheering you on from the tech booth."

Here I am so joyous and I can tell Patrick's just trying to be encouraging. He smiles as he waves me off, and calls out to wish me luck. I'm overcome with guilt.

It should have been enough just to be playing at the festival, but it wasn't right that I get to and Patrick didn't. Guilt fades to anger, and I can only come up with one person to blame. I didn't care how or what it would cost, I was going to make him pay for getting Patrick's hopes up like that.

He text himself the pictures from my phone, so I had his number consequentially. Opening the text and seeing the pictures only makes me hesitate for a second before I press the send button.

'My threats stand.'

I receive a reply at one in the morning.

'You're fucked.'


	6. Stage Magic

My health teacher is a fucking savage. I asked mom for a sick note to skip today. I was going to lie about why I needed it, fake being sick, or something along those lines but I just told her the kid sitting next to me was blackmailing me, asked her to sign the paper, and she told me to 'have fun on the field trip'. I dropped off my note to the principal, and Mr. stick-up-his-butt had the nerve to call my mother and say 'he wouldn't be 'sick' if he paid attention in health class.' Well, that's Pete's account of it. I didn't care if he knew I was avoiding him, but apparently it peaked Patrick's curiosity enough to bring up the conversation.

"Isn't your mom gonna be mad that you're skipping class? Why are you avoiding Pete anyway, I thought you two were getting along alright. You know, before you threatened to let out his secret." Patrick asks.

"He scares me." I lie. Truth be told I wasn't as intimidated by the boy so much as worried for my reputation at this point. I was having regrets about what I'd said, about what Pete was going to do if I really did display that footage 'accidentally' over the projector. The more I thought about it, the less I cared if the cold students from this school would turn me into a laughing stock. Brendon doesn't have to know about it, Patrick isn't the type to care what others think, and more than likely I'll be getting myself expelled for this anyway. I've thought about telling Patrick about my interest in makeup before but haven't. I don't think I'd ever go as far to tell him my interest in myself, nor show him photos... especially explicit ones. Pete had sent himself ALL the photos I'd taken of myself that day, but if he put topless pictures of me on social media or showed them to anyone, it would mean more than expulsion for him. The worst I'm looking at is a change of schools. "Mom doesn't care anyway, she's a nut case."

I start wondering what would happen if I did change schools, but before I could get so far as contemplating bus routes Patrick interrupts me. "Well that conversation Pete overheard wasn't what I called you over here for anyway." Patrick says. "Pete had something else to tell me."

Uh oh. I look for the disappointment, disgust, anger in his eyes but only see them gleam as a smile spreads across his face.

"Pete un-quit."

He... did?

"He did?!" I exclaim.

"We're playing in the festival tonight! We're going on right after your band. Ross! We did it!" He starts shaking me. "We're playing in the festival after all!"

I don't know what tricks Pete had up his sleeve, but for the first time today I stopped worrying about it. Patrick looked so happy!

I hug him tightly, and he squeezes me back.

"We're gonna have so much fricken fun! And I finally get to perform here! YOU finally get to perform Ross, aren't you thrilled?!"

I smile widely. "I am! I'm glad he changed his mind. Why, uh, did he change his mind anyway?" I ask scratching the back of my head.

"Guess he had a change of heart." Patrick shrugs. "I gotta go though- we haven't practiced in days and we still haven't picked a song. Thank you Ross!" He calls before shutting me in the tech booth.

I decide to see if my drummer Spenser is around so we could practice for our piece too, since I won't be going to my second hour. Patrick's excited to perform and so am I. He said Pete had a change of heart, so I don't know why he's thanking me. If that's the case, and Pete really did have a change of heart, then I shouldn't have anything to worry about- even expulsion since I won't be leaking those clips. It all turned out okay; Patrick got to perform like he wanted too, I'm getting past my stage fright and performing my songs... for once something's going the way it should in this town.

~~~

I don't find Patrick as I'm looking around the crowded lobby, and crowded is an understatement. People in this school district are really serious about music. I heard even professors from some special music college will be attending today's festival. It has me anxious but Brendon reminds me no one has to know I wrote the songs. It wasn't the only thing that had my nerves up. Just the sheer amount of people here was making me feel dizzy.

"I'm going to the bathroom." I blurt to Brendon and dash off before he can reply. It's just stage fright, I tell myself, and try to convert it into that same excitement I felt a few days ago.

I splash some water on my face. When I look in the mirror I think someone's watching me. I turn around to see I'd been followed.

I avoid eye contact and try to leave as Pete walks in, but that bully blocks the door.

"You got me here."

"I don't have time for-"

"I waited outside health class to lecture you and you skipped out on my spiel so you're listening to it now." He says as he grits his teeth. He looks even more nervous than me as he pulls at his collar. He clears his throat, but his voice is shaky. "You got me here, playing in this stupid thing Patrick's been begging me to do for years, so I'm doing it because to hell if I'm gonna let you push me around."

Me push him around? "I think you got that backwards."

He shakes his head. "Your pictures are going online. Tonight. Anonymously." He warns. "So enjoy the festival while it lasts, because it'll be your last.

His eyes are piercing.

I laugh.

"Did you come up with that and wait all day to tell me? Come ON Pete, don't you have better things to do with your time?"

His face turns vibrant red. He's clenching his mobile device in his jacket pocket.

"Have a nice two-and-a-half years of misery Ross." He grumbles as he leaves.

The nerves vanished. Suddenly being on stage wasn't concerning for me anymore. Pete's probably going to post pictures of me touching myself online, but if I stop to care about it... no, I DON'T care about it. I may have been skipping classes and homework and zoning through lectures but if there's one thing I've learned from someone at this school...

"Patrick! I've finally found you." I sigh in relief as I exit the bathroom. Pete was standing with him, offish, trying not to look like he's hanging around the 'geek'.

"Me? I've been looking for you!" Patrick laughs. "Intermission's almost up, aren't you guys on next?"

The instruments and everything were already set up back stage. I nod.

"Sure you don't have anything you need to 'touch up' before going on stage?" Pete taunts from the shadows, arms crossed, looking over his shoulder. Now that he mentions it...

"Where'd you run off too?" Brendon says, approaching us.

I had an idea though.

"Meet me on stage. Be ready." I tell him, and grab Patrick's hand. "Come with me!" I say and drag him through the crowd and into the green room.

"Ryan you're on in like ten minutes." He says. "What are we doing in here?"

I smirk as I look over the utensils in the room. "Hold a mirror for me, there's something I gotta do."

Exactly ten minutes later I've dashed to my place on stage. Brendon looks at me in shock. "Whoa! Who are you and what happened to Ross?!" He asks me.

This is how it should be. I felt confident, amazing, beautiful. The curtains begin to rise.

"You look sexy as hell." Brendon pulls his mouth away from the speaker to say before readying himself on stage. I smirk and wink at him before the lighting crew makes it up to his post, and I see Patrick give me a thumbs up before shining a big spotlight on my position.

I glance between my band mates, and say about the cheesiest and most perfect and lamest thing I could think of. "Time to dance." With the strum of my guitar the music starts.

Euphoric. I can see why Patrick loves performing so much. I've never known what it felt like to be on stage. I regret all the days I'd said I was sick and couldn't perform. We're received well with exuberant applause, and I stick my hand up to thank he crowd before prematurely jumping off stage, leaving my band behind as the curtains fall.

As if a storm cloud to ruin my day, Pete's waiting for me back stage. I spread my arms wide as if to taunt him to come at me.

"There, Pete. See? You can post whatever you want, I don't care."

Brendon's first to follow me, then the other two.

"I can't post the pictures." He says, his voice shaky and uncontrolled in volume and pitch.

It was dark back here, but I could still see Pete's face searing with blood. He and Patrick would go on next.

"Why not?" I ask.

Patrick arrives backstage too from his tech perch and joins the commotion.

"Because then I would have to delete them."

He catches me off guard in the midst of processing what he meant. He shoves me against a wall and instead of a fist he slams his lips against mine. Still buzzing from the excitement of performing, I feel myself fade in and out, short of breath, before he releases me. I land on the floor and gasp for a breath.

"We're playing 'Candles'" I hear him say to Patrick before stampeding towards stage.

"But we were practicing-"

"Candles." He reiterates. Patrick only glances at me before running after his partner on stage.

I make it to my feet. The guys averted their gaze, except Brendon who store wide eyed at me; a dumb smile plastered on his face.

"...should we go watch the festival now, or...?" I look up, off, around, glancing at Brendon in between.

The overly amused boy laughs. "Oh you have got tell me what THAT was all about!"

I'd sure like to know too.

~~~

We'd gotten our equipment stored in the orchestra room and made it to the auditorium halfway through Pete and Patrick's song. It put a smile on my face to see the blonde up there, dancing and singing his heart out. He spots me and I smile at him while clapping along to the music he's singing.

They must have gotten lost in the crowd on the way out. Not that I was going out of my way to find either of them, but I did a quick scan and there was no sign of them. Brent left early for an event at his school, but the rest of us stayed until the end. Maybe Patrick was still up in the tech booth switching things off or cleaning up or something.

Of course Brendon won't leave me alone once we're home. He asks me a hundred questions while I'm in the bathroom trying to take off my stage makeup.

I think it went something like this...

"Whowasthatguyisheyourboyfriendwhatpictureswhatpostwhydidhekissyouareyougayishegaywhatwereyouguystalkingaboutwhydidhepushyouwhatshisnamewhatshisname WHAT'S HIS NAME?"

"Pete!" I blurt as I emerge my face from the water.

Brendon looks puzzled.

"And, he's not exactly my favorite person in the world. We're enemies kinda."

"Enemies?"

"He picks on me, kinda."

Brendon snorts. "What is this, grade school?"

I go back to washing my face but Brendon pulls me up again by my shoulder. "What post was he talking about? Wait- his name's Pete? Brendon dashes out of the room and returns with his mobile device. "Pete what?"

Does he need so many details?

Pete said he wouldn't post the pictures, but I was curious too if he held up to that. I said I don't care and I'm sticking to that, but I'd still want to know.

Pete what.. Pete... W... Patrick's said it before I think. Oh! "Look up Patrick Stump."

"Who?"

His response makes me laugh for some reason.

"Wait, no. Look up, um... Pete wheres. Wentz. Pete Wentz, I think that's it."

Brendon quietly trolled over Pete's social media page while I finish removing my makeup. Aside from a few giggles I don't hear anything out of him about me, so I assume all is safe and Pete really didn't post anything.

I lay up thinking about what he said to me, and thinking about our kiss. Pete's face went hot when I was talking to him in the bathroom prior. I thought he was angry, but now I think I might have struck something. It's true, if he posted the pictures online he'd have to delete the evidence, but he'd implied he wanted to keep the photos of me. And, me of all people should understand why, except, it didn't sit well. Was he going to try to use them against me? I doubt it after he'd kissed me today. Something tells me pretty boy has other plans with those photos.

I peer over my shoulder, Brendon's asleep. I scroll over the text message then to my phone pictures. I pull up an image of myself biting my bottom lip, my eyes seem to sparkle here. I feel free. Girls will use makeup to hide their true face, but wearing eye liner and lipstick makes me feel more like myself than without it. I don't think I'd be walking the halls with it any time soon, but, maybe I could find a way to use my looks against Pete to my advantage.

At least I had the guts to show up for class. I should have known Wentz wouldn't show after what he did yesterday but I had my- what did he call it? My spiel ready. When the bell rings and I catch him trying to trail in last minute, I stop him at the door with my arms crossed.

...except I forgot everything I meant to say to him that instant.

Mister Prick closes the door on us both.

"Now we're both gonna miss class, way to go Ross." He says with an eye roll.

"You owe me an explanation." Is all I can come up with from that speech I had prepared.

"They're gone. I deleted your cocky-ass photos and I have no intentions of blackmailing you." He blurts. "So tell me again what it is I owe you or move so I can explain to mister dick-face why I'm late."

"'Cause you're avoiding me?"

"You've gotten smug." He snuffs. "Say it like you haven't been avoiding me."

"OUTTA THE HALLS."

We both jump thinking it was a hall monitor

but it was just Patrick.

I sigh and relax. Pete's still tense.

Patrick's laughing. "No really, let's go to the auditorium or something, we'll get caught if we hang around here."

"Don't think we're pals now just because of what happened last night. I'm not his friend, and as far as anyone else is concerned I'm not yours either." The brooding boy says to his friend before walking away.

"You're still hung up about that? Oh come on, Ross got over his deep dark secrets-"

"You knew?" I stammer.

"-you've got half a year left, what's the big deal if you know me?" He yells after Pete.

"I don't talk to strangers." He calls back as he continues walking.

Patrick and I exchange looks.

"He likes you." Patrick says, raising his brow, grinning widely.

I gathered.

Wait a minute.

"D-did he show you?!"

"That picture of you wearing eye liner?" Patrick giggles.

I gulp.

"He told me all about your run in. I wanna know what those pictures are all about though."

"I'll, uh, tell you another time." I say, looking around cautiously.

He and I part ways.


End file.
